


If This is Dying, I Don't Mind it Much

by WaywardSonsAndBlazingGuns



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Croatoan Virus, Death, Episode: s02e09 Croatoan, Gen, I apologize in advance, Pain, Reimagined, Sadness, What-If, honestly that's all I ever write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-29 18:34:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7694992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaywardSonsAndBlazingGuns/pseuds/WaywardSonsAndBlazingGuns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>2.09 reimagined. Say Sam wasn't immune to the virus. Say he got infected. Say he turned on his brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If This is Dying, I Don't Mind it Much

_Bang. Bang. Bang._

Three consecutive shots and the girl was dead. She made a sound when the shots rang out before falling limply to the side, face down, beside Sam.

Dean’s heartbeat slowed down minutely, that was close. Too fucking close. His thoughts started racing with the “what almost could have happened” and cursed himself for letting Sam go in alone. Sam’s breathing evened out just slightly as he raised his arm, reaching out to Dean.

Dean stepped forward, only to have Sarge stop him, “She bled on him,” his eyes shifted to Sam, “He’s got the virus.”

Sam lowered his hand, eyes searching Dean’s, the meaning of Sarge’s words settling over the both of them like a heavy weight.

He pushed Sarge aside to help Sam up anyway, eyeing the bleeding scar below his left shoulder.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“We can’t know for sure.” Dean mumbled, shouldering past both him and Dwayne, “we can’t know.”

\--

The only one in the room that didn’t look terrified of Sam was Dean. Everyone else stood a fair distance away, waiting for Sam to do something, _anything_ that would justify them putting a bullet in his chest. Dean paced the small room, “Doctor, check his wound again would ya?”

She didn’t move.

“Doctor!”

“What’dyou need to examine him for? You _saw_ what happened.” Sarge snapped

“Did her blood actually enter your wound?” she asked Sam for the fourth time.

“C’mon of course it did!” he yelled

Dean shot him a glare, “We don’t know that for sure.”

“We can’t take a chance.”

“You know what we have to do…”

Dean shifted his gaze between the two men, “Nobody is shootin’ my brother.” That was final.

“He’s not gonna be your brother much longer, you said it yourself.” Dwayne cut in

“Nobody’s shooting anyone.”

“You were gonna shoot _me_!” the kid yelled.

“You shut your pie hole, I still might!” Dean yelled back

“Dean, they’re right.” Sam’s voice was even, cutting through the chaos and anger and quieting Dean down - he’d already started to accept his fate. His eyes were wide and tears threatened to spill, “I’m infected. Just gimme the gun and I’ll do it myself.”

 _Not happening._ “Forget it.”

“Dean, I’m not gonna become one of those things.”

“Sam we’ve still got some time w-“

“Time for what? Look I understand he’s your brother and am sorry I am but” Sarge pulled out a gun, “I gotta take care of this”

“I’m gonna say this one time.” Dean locked eyes with him, “you make a move on him, you’ll be dead before you hit the ground you understand me?” he stared back at him. “DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?!”

“DEAN!”

“Then what are we supposed to do!” Sarge shouted.

Dean’s shoulders relaxed, as if all the tension had gone away. The anger was completely gone as he reached into his pocket and took out his keys. Tossing them to Sarge, he spoke with an eerie calm. Giving out instructions like it was no big deal, “Get the hell outta here, that’s what. Take my car, you got the explosives, there’s an arsenal in there; you two go with him. You got enough fire power to handle anything now.”

“What about you?”

Dean looked Sarge in the eyes for a few seconds, clearly communicating what he intended to do.

“Dean.” Sam pleaded, “No, no. Go with them.” _Please, “_ This is your only chance”

Dean smiled, “Can’t get rid of me that easy.”

“He’s right, man. Come with us.”

Dean’s head turned away from Sam, letting everyone know, that there was no way in heaven or hell that he was going to turn his back on his brother. If this was the end, then so be it.

Sarge nodded before glancing at Sam.

“Okay. Your funeral.”

The doctor hesitated when she got the door, “I’m sorry. Thanks for everything, marshals.”

Dean smiled, “Oh actually, we’re not really marshals.”

“Um … oh.”

He shut the door behind her and locked it before turning to face Sam with a smile. It was basic instinct, even with everything going to hell Dean’s smile for Sam functioned on autopilot. _I’m here_.

“Wish we had a deck of cards, foosball table or something.”

Sam sat with his back slouched, his hands hanging between his legs, “Dean don’t do this. Just get the hell outta here.

“No way.” Stubborn fucking kid wouldn’t get it if Dean wrote it down and shoved it in his face. He wasn’t going anywhere.

Sam begged, his eyes shining with tears, his voice quivering, “Gimme my gun. And leave.”

Dean glanced up at him, “For the last time, Sam. No.” And that was that.

He turned to walk towards the table when Sam throws the icepack down on the floor, getting his attention again.

 “This is the dumbest thing you’ve ever done.” He sobbed

“I don’t know about that,” Dean shrugged, “Remember that waitress in Tampa?” he shuddered at the memory.

“Dean I’m sick. Its over for me.” Sam tried again, “It doesn’t have to be for you.”

“No?” he asked. As if the very suggestion was outrageous. If Sam dies – what’s this goddamned planet have left to offer him?

“No. you can keep going.”

Something in Dean’s eyes shifts and all of a sudden, that hint of humor is gone, “Who says I want to?”

Those words puzzle Sam the second they leave his big brother’s lips. They share a moment – Sam trying to get a read on Dean and Dean not shutting him out. After all – it’s gotta be how this all ends.

“What?” Sam finally asks.

Dean winces, sits down on the table and confesses. His voice losing every bit of sarcasm, sass and humor, it loses every bit of the edge that makes him so strong and impressive to every human he meets. This was Sam he was talking to. He didn’t need to be anything but honest, “I’m tired, Sam. I’m tired of this job, this life … this weight on my shoulders, man, I’m tired of it.”

The words hit Sam like a ton of bricks, “So what you’re just gonna give up? I mean you’re just gonna lay down and die?” All that talk about going down swinging? “Look, Dean, I know this stuff with dad had-“

“You’re wrong. It’s not about dad. I mean part of it is sure-” he shrugs

“Then what is it about?” Sam pushes, trying to get an answer out of him. This didn’t add up, not to him. Sam should have known – and perhaps part of him already did – that when the time came, and Sam had to die and Dean couldn’t save him, Dean would lay down his life for him, die with him and be perfectly content with it.

The talk about going down swinging only came into play if they couldn’t beat a common enemy. A demon. A monster. The end of the goddamned world. But if it was Sam..

Sam’s always been Dean’s exception.

“It’s not about Dad. It-” Dean closes his eyes for a brief moment, trying to put his words together.

This was the end and Dean could feel it in every bone. There was no panic, no fear, no self-loathing … Sam was infected, and he was going to kill him – and that was okay. It was so much better than the alternative. It was the end and Dean couldn’t say that he loved Sam – he couldn’t allow himself to say those words to Sam in broad daylight, not when he had a bullet sitting in his gun with Sam’s name written on it.

 _If I can’t save him. I kill him_.

He opened his eyes and found Sam smiling at him – beaming, actually.

Dean tightened his grip on the gun and Sam lunged at him. He tackled Dean to the ground and punched him. Once. Twice. Thrice.

Again. And Again. And Again.

Sam opened his fist to reveal the split skin of his palm, his nails were crusted with blood and he loomed over his brother, victory shining in his empty eyes.

“Sammy..” It was a weak, low whisper.

“Easy now, Dean.” He shushed him with a finger to his lips, and bled over the wound he inflicted.

Sam stood up and wiped his hands on his jeans, leaning over to grab his gun from the table. He stifled a smile when he heard something that had to be a sob.

And then he heard a click.

The boys faced each other with their guns pointed at one another's hearts, one of those hearts used to beat with an unimaginable amount of love for others, for everyone, with a special place for the boy who raised him but at that moment, it beat with the sole purpose to end the life that was half his own - while the other beat for the boy that had his gun pointed right at him, but that was okay.

The shots echoed through the empty streets.

The boys lay side by side, bleeding infected blood onto a floor that no one would see for weeks.

And when the bodies would be found, no one would know their names and they would be buried together in a small cemetery near Crater Lake.

 


End file.
